Moments
by Isawien Malfoy
Summary: Angel thinks about the things he remembers, and loves most, about Buffy. After Buffy's return from heaven, before Chosen.


hi guys,

well here's another attempt on my end, this one is from Angel's pov, takes place after Buffy's return from heaven, before he showed up during the finale.

Please let me know what you think

and again PTB, I own nothing (unforutnatly -sigh-)

Isa

* * *

It was in the quiet during the day that he let himself remember. While the others were downstairs working, talking, laughing, whatever it was they did… after a long night when he desperately wanted to call and hear her voice, the urge so much stronger since her death and subsequent return to this world.

It was the little things that he would think of. The things that were uniquely Buffy.

The way she would put peanut butter on her chocolate. It had to be Hershey's; it had to be crunchy peanut butter – only Peter Pan. She'd use crunchy peanut butter on her toast, but for a sandwich it was creamy or nothing, creamy peanut butter with strawberry preserves, none of that jelly stuff.

She liked butter and sugar on her white rice. She had once said it was something from her dad's side, her dad, grandfather, uncles… they all did it. But they also put milk on their rice, which she thought was 'so absolutely gross'. Same with oatmeal, all of them put milk in their oatmeal, not her, white milk floating around her oatmeal… it looked 'like something that belonged in a toilet after you'd been sick'.

Of course that was only true unless she was having Chinese, then her rice had to have beef and broccoli on it, or chicken and broccoli… what mattered was getting as much of the gravy on her rice so it soaked through, he suspected she enjoyed the rice more than she did the meat and vegetables that she _always_ ate first, saving the rice for last.

And God help anyone who touched her egg roll.

She would dye her roots on the first of every month, wake up and do them in the morning, then sit and eat cinnamon sugar toast and drink hot chocolate until it was time to wash her hair.

When she painted her nails or toenails she always started with her right index finger or matching toe, then her thumb or big toe, then the rest of her fingers and toes only to switch to the other hand and repeat the process. She said it was so her thumb and index finger would be dry when she was ready to paint the other hand, and it was just habit to continue the pattern with her toes. She loved to use different shades of pale pink which looked identical in the array or bottles but somehow looked different on her. He even learned to identify them by their names, buying her a replacement bottle when he noticed she was getting low on one shade. Every now and again she'd use red on her toes, a bright red, almost the shade of fresh blood. It was like she knew it drove him crazy, she'd walk around barefoot constantly when at his place. As far as he knew no one else ever saw her toes when they bore the red coloring.

She adored sappy chick flicks as she called them, and pathetically horrible horror movies, like that I Know What You Did Last Summer that was so clichéd. He would just smirk and point out how much that one character looked like her and she'd shoot him a look, pointing out that she 'would so beat the crap out of that fish hook dude'. Though she did admit the boyfriend was cute, which had him growling low in his throat before capturing her lips in a searing kiss to remind her that she was his mate, even before he actually marked her. His jealous nature hadn't surfaced as much after that dance with Xander when she was being all bitchy after her return to Sunnydale the summer after her first death… he knew she was his not long after that and had no reason to be jealous. Other guys could look, but it was him she gave her heart to. He figured she would purposely make comments like that though, to get a rise out of him, and he didn't disappoint, just for the chance to kiss her.

Her eyes were almost always green, like moss in the early morning dew. When she was troubled, they'd turn a darker shade, like grass in the moonlight. When she was happy they'd remind him of a perfectly cut emerald, bright and shinning with an inner light the sun brought out. She was his sun, his moon, his everything.

She hated to sing in public, she confessed that one night. She thought her voice was horrible and she sounded like a lost little girl. But in the shower she would sing some tune that was in her head, and he'd listen, completely in rapture by the sound of her voice drifting from the room. He could listen to her all day, but when she came out and realized her had been listening she would turn bright red before grumbling under her breath, swearing she would never do it again. But she'd do it again, and again.

She always worried about her hair when she woke up, even when she wasn't in his arms, if she woke during the night when he was watching her from the tree to make sure she was okay, the first thing she did was reach up to run her fingers through her hair, trying to get it in something that didn't look like a mess as she put it. He loved seeing her hair all messed up by sleep though, especially when it happened in his arms.

She nearly always slept in horrible cheesy pajamas, or boxers and a tank top. But she had a secret obsession with silky nightgowns, she kept them in a drawer behind her underwear and when she was feeling exceptionally un-beautiful, un-feminine, she'd bring one out and slip into it, smiling as she looked in her mirror. She only ever wore one for him once, a pale pink that brushed her ankles, swirling around them like a cloud as she walked, thin straps and a bodice that hugged her skin, entirely too much cleavage showing. He had all he could do to not pull it off her inch by inch and make sweet love to her for hours.

He remembered the way she would smile, so many different types of smiles depending on her mood. His favorite was the few times she _really_ smiled; practically beaming she could light up the room with her smile. She smiled with her eyes; they'd turn that beautiful shade of emerald when she smiled _that_ smile. When she was sad though, and tried to hide it behind a smile, she'd almost succeed but it was her eyes that gave her away. She didn't wear her heart on her sleeve; she wore it in her eyes.

He'd never admit it to anyone, but he could never forget the sweet flavor of her blood as he fed from her that night. He didn't want to, and she had to beat his demon into slipping through ever so slightly, but he couldn't deny that he hadn't enjoyed it as he tasted the ambrosia that was her lifeblood. Or that for one brief second when he rolled over and saw her, so week after the blood loss, he was tempted to cut his wrist and bring her back that way, make her one of his kind. To be able to spend eternity with her… But he couldn't bear to do that if he would have forever with her, but it wouldn't be her without her soul; and being unable to be in the sunlight would kill her soul even if by some miracle she managed to keep it.

He could close his eyes and still picture her the night of her prom, that dress, the curve of her neck that called to be caressed… holding her in his arms as the music played, lost in their own world as others danced around them. Feeling her heart beat and for one brief moment almost feeling like his was beating in time. Then walking away after she fought the Mayor, seeing her through the smoke with her diploma and her friends behind her, knowing that there was so much of the future for her to face and he couldn't hold her back, keep her in his world. Turning and walking away killed a little piece of his soul, a piece that only lived again on that day that time forgot and only he remembered.

He could sense her, even with the distance between them. When she was happy, when she was sad… it was how he knew she needed him when her mother died, he could feel her slipping away from him in her grief. He had marked her that night she nearly gave her life to save his, connected her to him in a way he never meant to, but could never regret. She was his soul mate, his wife since the night he placed the Claddagh ring on her finger, his true mate… Only one vampire had dared to attempt to mark her with his mark upon her. And Dracula had paid dearly when Angel found him.

He could never forgive himself for not being there when she died for the second time. He was off in Pylea, spending time in the sun while she was giving her life. He didn't even feel that she was gone when he got back to this world, he had the feeling something was off but wrote it off as a side effect of the trip at first, unable to put his finger on just what was missing until he saw Willow and it hit him like a punch to his gut, his heart shattering into tiny pieces, realizing that it was her that was missing, his mate was gone and he wouldn't even see her in the next life – God willing she wasn't in some hell dimension – God wouldn't be that cruel.

He knew she was back before Willow called, was in the middle of fighting when he suddenly felt that part of him he thought lost. He nearly got killed before his mind snapped back to the fight. He didn't want to believe it at first, even as his heart and soul soared at the knowledge she was back. He couldn't bear to believe because the only reason Willow would attempt such a spell was if she knew Buffy _was_ in some hell dimension. He wanted to race to Sunnydale that night, but the others reminded him of a demon nest and he couldn't, as much as he wanted to he couldn't. He called though, as soon as they got rid of the demons, and arranged to meet her halfway.

When he saw her, all he cared about was that she was really there, really alive, but then he really looked at her and knew… Willow hadn't pulled her from some hell dimension; she had been in heaven, where she belonged. He wanted to go to Sunnydale and rip her heart out for doing such a thing to Buffy, did she even stop to find out if Buffy was in heaven before she pulled her out of there. Did she even care? He asked her to come to L.A., without a second thought as he held her in his arms, as she cried. But she knew she had to stay in Sunnydale, she had given all she could to stop the Hellmouth, she couldn't leave now, her sacrifice would have been in vain, her punishment now, being pulled from heaven, would have been for nothing. He made her promise to call if she needed him, knowing as he watched her drive away that she would probably not call, not wanting to drag him down with her. He could feel her though, as she fell further and further. He didn't go though, she told him to stay away and as much as he wanted to he wasn't going to make her have another person who defied her wishes.

And so he was still here in LA, desperately wanting to be with her, to hold her. But for now he had his dreams and his memories… and the hope that one day the Powers would let them find happiness. Until then, he would love her from afar and wait for her to call when she needed him And he made himself a promise, he'd never not be by her side if, no doubt when was more appropriate… she faced death again. He hadn't been their twice, and both times he had lost her, for minutes then for months. He would be there and do everything in his power to make sure she didn't face a third time and test the saying that the third time was the charm.

It had to be enough for now…


End file.
